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COPyRIGHT DEPOSir. 



A SUNSET IDYL 



AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



EBEN JENKS LOOMIS 




CAMBRIDGE 

|)rtnteti at t^e EibersiUe 10iU&s 

1903 









COPYRIGHT 1903 BY EBEN JENKS LOOMIS 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



TO MY WIFE 

^ar^ ^luen lloomts: 

MY MOST SYMPATHETIC READER AND CRITIC 
THESE POEMS ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
IN THIS FIFTIETH YEAR OF OUR WEDDED LIFE 




/ 




/^^J-/.^/?J 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE 

The conditions of even the busiest life are never so in- 
sistent as to require every possible moment for its demands. 
There are eddies from time to time in the current of duty 
which permit the mind to range out into a field of thought 
quite apart from everyday routine. Such mental excursions 
away from the monotony of daily work, however brief, are 
very restful, and from these less frequented regions new ideas 
may sometimes be gathered. 

The poems in this little book had their origin in such 
quiet intervals in exacting daily duties. Perhaps in the light 
of everyday life, like the fairy gold of childhood tales, they 
may prove to be common pebbles and bits of slate only ; 
but whatever they are, be they pebbles or gold, I here offer 
them to my friends. 



CONTENTS 



A Sunset Idyl 

The Trailing Arbutus . 

The Setting Venus . 

A Legend of the Water-Lily 

My Dream .... 

Aspiration 

A Sunset Picture 

To Collette , . . 

To an Autumn Violet 

The Caged Mocking-Bird's Song 

Song ..... 

JlAy Friend 

Dripping Spring 

Death. A Vision 

Autumn Signs 

The Gift . 

The Heart's Winter 

i888-i88g . . 

The Deserted House 



PAGE 

I 

12 

14- 

17 
23 
25 
27 

29 
32 

34 

37 

39 
42 

44 
49 
51 
54 
58 
61 



Three Gifts 




. . 64 


Questionings . 


. 


. . 6s 


Meridian Hill . 




. . 69 


To a Forest Spring . 


. 


• 7^ 


The Cosmic Morning . 




72 


Anacreontic . 




. . 76 


A Summer Sunrise 




77 


A Winter Sunset . 


. 


• 79 


A Reminiscence . 




82 


Reaching 


. 


. . 8s 


Do Tou Remember? 




88 


Trysting 


. 


. 90 


" Through the City's Ceaseless Noise " 


92 


The Brook . 


. 


• H 


" As Two Dew drops on 


a Flower" 


. . p6 


Phantoms 


. 


. . p8 


" Was it June ? " 


. 


100 


'■'■ I crossed" . 


, 


. 102 


Friendship 


. 


. los 


Who is my Neighbor ? 


. 


. 106 


Parted 


SONNETS 


108 


Waiting 


. 


. 113 


Sunset 


. 


• iH 


At Night 


. 


• IIS 


A Forest Walk . 


. 


116^ 117 



VI 



Distant Mountains ..... ii8^ iig 

The Pine ....... 120^ 121 

The Crow ...... 122^ 12^ 

Indian Summer ...... 12^^ 12^ 

Twilight on Lake George .... 126^ 12^] 

" / stand upon the hill : far., far^ away " . . . 128 
Progress ........ I2p 



Vll 



A SUNSET IDYL 

ALL day the drifting clouds had trailed along 
Their gray, cool wreaths of mist athwart the hills; 
All day the gentle rain with whispering voice 
Had seemed to tell some secret of the clouds, 
And the hushed earth had listened all day long 
To catch the story from the sky-born rain. 
Once only waked the thunder and the wind : 
In the black west a mighty cloud uprose. 
And from the lurid purple of its mane 
Shook down the rain and thunder to the earth, 
And the quick lightning shivering through the gloom 
Flashed like a sudden meteor in the night. 
But when the dark, still day was nearly spent, 
The yellow sunshine flooded all the west. 
The broken clouds swept eastward, and the night 
Came up, mysterious with its countless stars. 
Before the rain had ceased, or day had gone, 
I stood upon a bridge whose sturdy arch 
Spans the broad river's deep, tumultuous flood, 
And this is what I saw, and heard, and dreamed. 

I 



Far westward lie 

Along the sky 
Vast clouds of sombre, purple dye ; 

On slope and hill 

The wind is still, 
The brooding air grows damp and chill. 

Dark shadows creep 

From vale to steep, 
The threatening silence grows more deep; 

While far away 

A drifting spray 
Wraps all the distant hills in gray. 

A low, deep groan, 

A swelling moan. 
The storm's majestic monotone, 

Breaks on the ear. 

And growing clear. 
Brings to the heart a chill of fear. 

A blinding flash, 

A bursting crash. 
Join with the white rain's sweeping dash. 

The winds awake 

And wildly shake 
The forest till its strong roots quake. 

The turbid rills 

Leap from the hills. 
Their voice the thunder pauses fills ; 



Along the stream 

A snowy gleam 
Flashes like waves seen in a dream. 

The storm's dark fold 

Is upward rolled 
And brightens into vapory gold ; 

The winds are whist, 

And on the mist 
A rainbow keeps with eve its tryst. 

The wind fell silent ; in the tender west 

A few low clouds glowed with intensest light, 

Crimson, and amethyst, and changing gold. 

The river flowed like liquid chrysoprase ; 

Flakes of white foam ran whirling on the green. 

And while the current hastened toward the sea. 

My thought went drifting like the snowy foam, 

Down to a shoreless sea of reverie. 

And dreamed of things that were not, nor would be. 

A high, bare hill crowned by a noble oak ; 
A house below half hidden by the trees ; 
Broad fields of sunny green, a winding stream; 
Ranges of hills on the horizon's rim 
Melt blue and bluer to the distant sky. 
Of all the quiet scene, the house below 

3 



Was sweetest to my soul ; for there dwelt one 
Who ruled my spirit with the rule of love. 
A subtle power had led my heart along 
Step after step, and yet 1 knew it not ; 
For I had often met her ; laugh and jest 
Passed lightly like the passing summer hours ; 
And though I saw her beauty, yet my heart 
Was still untouched. Her heavy, rich brown hair. 
Shot through by sunshine with a ray of gold, 
Lay in great masses on her shapely head, 
A coil of shadowy sunbeams, silky fine. 
Through large, soft hazel eyes her soul looked out 
When she was quiet, but if she was moved 
The hazel fire dissolved in darkest night. 
And from that darkness half discovered thoughts 
Peered out, as misty stars peer from the sky. 
I knew not that I loved her, till one eve 
As she came toward me down the garden walk, 
A glory like the aureole of a saint 

Shone round her lovely head, — or seemed to shine, — 
And by a sudden wave of chilling fear 
Which swept across my newly conscious heart. 
That she could never love me in return, 
I knew she held my life ; my own no more. 
But when one evening from her shy, sweet lips 
I heard the sweetest words the air can hold. 
Earth seemed once more a sinless Paradise, 

4 



Where angels might not fear again to dwell, 
And talk with men beneath the noonday shade. 
Sometimes at sunset, on the high, green hill, 
When all the west flamed with the sun's last fire, 
I stayed for her beneath the murmuring oak. 
And watched her coming up the winding path. 

When the sun is red and low 
Up the path I wander slow ; 
To my happy tryst I go 
While the evening breezes blow. 

And the vesper sparrow sings. 
Where the hilltop, cool and high, 
Seems to touch the glowing sky. 
On the tender turf I lie. 
Watching crimson clouds go by. 

And the night-hawk's spotted wings. 
Far below, the babbling rill 
Sends its murmur to the hill. 
And the evening breeze grows still — 
Suddenly my pulses thrill 

With an ecstasy like pain. 
For adown the path I see. 
Hidden half by vine and tree. 
Where my darling comes to me. 
Tripping o'er the shadowy lea ; 

Life and joy have come again. 
5 



I can hear her flying feet 
Bending down the clover sweet ; 
Ere my heart again can beat 
With my soul my soul shall meet j 

Life to me no more can bring. 
Love thoughts warm her forehead white, 
Flushing her sweet face with light ; 
Hill and vale again grow bright, 
Though the sun has gone from sight ; 

With her come the day and spring. 
All of midday's sunshine fair 
Lingers in her golden hair ; 
Thrilling bird songs, sweet and rare. 
Seem to stir the scented air, 

As her whispered words I list. 
O my darling, should the years 
Bring us suffering, bring us tears, 
Even while death's shadow nears. 
We shall think amid our fears 

Of this happy, sunset tryst. 

The last thin wreath of vapor in the west 
Burned for an instant like a rosy flame. 
Then melted into air, and left the sky 
A broad, bright field of topaz, from whose glow 
Almost it seemed the crystal walls of Heaven 
Flashed down to earth the light of purer skies. 

6 



Across the river, from the dripping copse 
Came faintly to the ear the sparrow's song, 
The day's last pulse of music ; then a spell 
Of silence fell upon the tired earth, 
And, save the whispering murmur of the stream. 
When tiny wavelets lapped the granite piers. 
No noises stirred the sunset-holding air. 
But like God's benediction, perfect peace 
Wrapped everything in rest, from flower to man. 
The day's last flame, uplifted from the earth. 
Filled the great purple goblet of the sky 
With sunset wine. With pale and trembling lips 
I quaffed this vintage of the vines of God, 
And sin's dark shadow seemed to leave my soul, 
And gross material things grow pure and fine. 
And as I gazed upon the glowing west. 
Which slowly darkened with the coming night, 
Again sweet visions of unreal bliss 
Made grief and pain to seem but flitting shades 
Which hid themselves from the broad sun of joy. 

I bore her to my home. It cannot be 
That greater joy and peace than mine have shone 
Into the depths of any mortal life. 
How strange it seemed to me that my great love 
Could grow still stronger with the passing years. 
But all my being, from that bright, sweet day 

7 



When first I knew her maiden heart was mine, 

Was filled and lifted by her purer life. 

Infinite changes in her coy, sweet ways 

Made her forever diflFerent, though the same. 

Xo-day it seemed no added grace could give 

A fuller beauty to her rounded life ; 

Yet on the morrow some new witching charm 

Made her still lovelier than yesterday. 

One soft June evening, when the western sky 

Held lovingly a few warm rays of light 

Though day had long departed, she and I 

Walked slowly through the garden and beyond, 

To a great pine whose cone of plumy green 

In the dim light gloomed like a threatening cloud. 

A wave of dewy air breathed from the west 

And, toying with the myriad-needled pine. 

Broke in a low sweet pulse of dream-like song. 

Our hearts were thrilled with a diviner life 

In the deep, starry silence ; made more deep 

By the faint wind-song from the shadowy tree. 

Then, when the stillness pressed our throbbing hearts. 

Until the quiet grew almost to pain. 

Some thought too deep for words alone to speak. 

Sprang to her lips in a low gush of song. 

Noble pine tree, softly singing. 
To my heart wild fancies bringing, 
8 



Speak thy wisdom plainer, clearer, 
Bring my life to thy life nearer. 
Tell me, is not love undying. 
Change, and time, and fate defying ? 

With thy song these words are blending, 

Love alone is never ending. 

Gentle west wind, whose caressing 
Brings the earth continual blessing. 
What is thy soft murmur saying ? 
Does it answer to my praying ? 
Sayst thou not that love, immortal. 
Lives beyond the shadowy portal ? 

With thy voice these words are blending, 

Love alone is never ending. 

Silver stars, thy changeless glory 
Shows me love's unchanging story. 
Always shines it true and tender. 
As thy white, eternal splendor ; 
Time nor death shall touch it ever. 
True hearts joined are one forever. 

Heaven itself this truth is sending. 

Love alone is never ending. 

Summer night, thrilled through with brightness 
By the stars' unsullied whiteness, 
9 



In your gloom, by starlight broken, 

I can see love's radiant token ; 

Through life's gloom, if gloom shall near us, 

Love light still shall ever cheer us. 

Night and stars this truth are sending, 

Love alone is never ending. 

As in an autumn morning when a mist 

Wraps all things in a veil of ghostly white, 

Through which familiar scenes look strange and new, 

So through the glamour of my sunset dream 

I saw familiar things shine sweet and strange j 

The world seemed filled with fair, unreal shapes, 

Such as our daily life can never know. 

And as the morning mist, warmed by the sun, 

Lifts suddenly and vanishes away, 

So my fair dream, touched by a sudden sound 

Borne from the distant town across the stream, 

Broke in an instant, and its lovely forms, 

Its sunny landscapes and ideal love. 

Rose like a mist and vanished in the night. 

No light of sunset lingered in the west, 

But only darkness lit by trembling stars. 

The sighing river swept in gloom away 

As if in sadness for my broken dream, 

Yet bore it ever, through the deepening night, 

The sparkling stars upon its panting breast. 



I wended slowly homeward, and my heart 
Seemed moving, like the river, into gloom ; 
But not unbroken gloom, for starlike thoughts. 
The scattered fragments of my twilight dream. 
Shone out to lead me toward the coming morn. 
And night was still and starry. But the day. 
Which fills the heart with new and hopeful light. 
Still came not, for the hour was not yet ripe. 
But — for God changes not — the morn shall come. 



II 



THE TRAILING ARBUTUS 

DIVINELY fair, thy waxen cup 
From sodden forest leaves looks up, 
Pure as an infant's dimpled face, 
And with an infant's fragile grace. 
Thy goblets, fit for fairy wine. 
With rosy sunlight seem to shine. 
And to my waiting heart they bring 
A prophecy of coming spring. 
From dripping mould and perished leaves 
Mysterious life thy beauty weaves. 
And sets thee on the woodland slope 
To give the winter-weary hope. 
What is thy wondrous alchemy 
Transmuting clay to roseate dye ? 
Which finds in every wind that blows 
A perfume sweeter than the rose ? 
I would that I could learn such skill 
To mould existence to my will ; 
To take some tint of heavenly sky 
From common life where dead hopes lie ; 

12 



And gain from sorrow's frosty wings 
The fragrance of diviner things. 
How can I live a life like thine, 
Fill up my soul with life's best wine, 
Walk stainless through the foulest way. 
And keep Hope's light though dark the day ? 
I know not. But thy tender grace 
In memory shall keep its place, 
And over wintry thoughts shall bring 
A brightness like the glow of spring. 



13 



THE SETTING VENUS 

(Written Two Weeks before the Transit of 1874) 

NOT a wreath of cloudy vapor stains the glory of the 
sky, 
Basking in the latest sun-rays all the distant hilltops lie ; 
From beyond the far horizon flashes up a radiance, bright 
As the glow which sprang from chaos at the words " Let 

there be light." 
Slowly fades the sunny brightness, sombre shadows creep 

and grow, 
From the east a purple darkness climbs the concave, still 

and slow ; 
All the light of sunset gathers low along the amber west. 
All the discords born of daylight, awed by evening, drop 

to rest. 
Like a newer revelation, like another birth of light. 
Flashes out the evening planet through the growing dusk 

of night ; 
All the western sky seems holy, lighted by that spotless 

ray; 

14 



Night, illumined by that glory, whiter than the whitest day. 
Ah ! as earth's celestial sister, later born and doubly fair, 
Moves along her radiant pathway with the sunlight in her 

hair. 
Only pale, prophetic science can foretell that day so nigh. 
When her beauty, turned to darkness, shall be lost in yonder 

sky. 
Blinded, hidden by the lightning of the sun's supernal 

might. 
Wanders on the darkening planet, darker as it nears the 

light : 
Who will now praise earth's young sister, robed in black- 
ness like a nun. 
All her glow a spot of darkness on the splendor of the sun ? 
Yet from her humiliation comes her glory, greater far 
Than shall wait on other planet, moon, or farthest shining 

star. 
Through the sun's Red Sea her going shall be watched by 

eager eyes. 
Step by step along her pathway where the clouds of flame 

arise. 
Not her most unclouded beauty drew such worship to her 

throne. 
As her day of darkened brightness, as this hour of gloom 

alone. 
Slowly, sadly, yet triumphant, from that death to newer 

birth, 

15 



Moves through dawn victorious Venus as the morning star 
of earth. 

From her martyrdom of darkness, science grasps the law 
of space, 

Learns to weigh the worlds around us, and their paths 
unerring trace ; 

Finds the point where the Creator holds Attraction's golden 
chain, 

Drawing worlds and suns through ether, in one vast, har- 
monic train. 



i6 



A LEGEND OF THE WATER-LILY 

NO brighter maid danced on the green than Margaret 
the Fair, 
Her soul looked out through eyes of blue, of rippled gold 

her hair ; 
Her face was sweet with pensive thought ; no maid so fair, 

I ween. 
Was ever found the country round, or, sooth, was ever seen. 
Long had young Harold told his love j she said him yea 

nor nay : 
" I wed no man whose life is spent with churls in rustic 

play, 
But he alone may claim my love who wins a warrior's 

fame ; 
Not he who leads a village life and never makes a name." 
" And if I come from foreign wars, where death and brave 

men meet. 
And lay my laurels and my heart," said Harold, " at your 

feet ; 
If ere I come you hear my name spoke by both great and 

small, 

17 



By village rustic in his cot, by noble in the hall, — 
Then should I vainly seek your love ; as vainly as of old ? " 
" Come then to me," said Margaret, " and Harold shall be 

told." 
He put upon her dainty hand a ring w^hose opal stone 
Flashed like a scarlet flame through smoke, and then she 

was alone. 
A year has passed, he comes not yet ; another year goes by. 
All pale and sad is Margaret, the light has left her eye ; 
She does not hear young Harold's name spoke, or by great 

or small. 
By village rustic in his cot or noble in the hall. 
Then thought she of an olden tale, told oft in twilight gray. 
Of haunted streams where Nixies dwell and dance the night 

away ; 
How, when the night is dark and still, is seen a sudden 

light 
Far down below the quiet wave, a flash that startles night. 
And torches countless as the stars break from the silent 

stream. 
And dancers featly tread the wave beneath that ruddy 

gleam. 
And he whose heart is strong and bold, nor fears their 

magic power. 
May questions three demand of them, just at the midnight 

hour. 



i8 



But he who seeks their aid must have a steady heart and 

bold, 
He must not take' their jewels rich, he must refuse their 

gold ; 
For they will offer precious stones and gold a countless 

store, 
But if he take the proffered wealth, no friend shall see him 

more. 
For snatched away from sun and sky, enforced by demon 

spell, 
A servant threescore years and five, with Nixies must he 

dwell. , 
And if his heart, assailed by fear, within his breast grow 

faint. 
Should he forget to sign the cross, and call on holy saint. 
Should he not cry aloud on Christ to help him in his 

need. 
Then woe for him ! through weary years sad fate shall be 

his meed. 
For if he do not call on Christ, nor cross his sinful breast. 
Nor speak the Virgin Mother's name, feared by the powers 

unblest. 
They have the power by spell to change, for threescore 

years and five. 
His form of man to beast or flower, nor prayer can break 

the gyve. 



19 ». 



Down among the trembling rushes, 
While the sky with twilight flushes, 
And the landscape slowly darkens, 
Margaret intently harkens. 
Through the dark the stream flows gently. 
And she watches it intently ; 
Gone is all the twilight splendor. 
Pure stars sparkle white and tender ; 
On the hill a soft wind blowing. 
Answers to the river's flowing. 
As the midnight hour draws nigher, 
Comes a flash of blood-red fire ; 
Deep beneath the flowing river 
Torches gleam and lances quiver. 
On the beryl water dancing, 
Tresses flowing, jewels glancing, 
Thousands tread the fairy mazes. 
Where the torchlight round them blazes. 
One has left the gleaming river, 
And poor Margaret's pulses shiver. 
For advancing toward her slowly. 
With his proud head bended lowly. 
Proffers he bright jewels golden, 
Wrought in rare forms, quaint and olden. 
But rich jewels, rare and splendid. 
Tempt not one whose hope has ended. 



20 



Margaret, for Harold seeking, 
Only waits the Nix's speaking. 
She has asked for truth forbidden, 
Asked for that which God has hidden; 
And her heart is wildly throbbing. 
While her voice is lost in sobbing. 
For the Nix a scene is showing. 
Dim at first, but clearer growing. 
Of a battlefield all bloody ; 
Grass and ground with gore are ruddy, 
And among the dead men lying 
Sees she Harold slowly dying. 
Through the night a shriek upsending, 
With the owl's hoot shrilly blending, 
Margaret falls prone, and falling. 
Not on Christ, but Harold, calling. 
Feels through all her being stealing. 
Some dread change her life congealing. 

Where the waves are flowing stilly 
Floats a queenly water-lily. 
When the morning's growing brightness 
Flashes on the lily's whiteness, 
Down within the petals tender 
Shines one dewdrop's opal splendor. 
Like a tear that springs, while sleeping. 
From a child that dreams of weeping. 



Free from thought, from hope or sorrow, 

Careless of the coming morrow, 

Margaret, by demon power 

Prisoned in the queenly flower, 

Floats upon the water chilly. 

Maiden heart in maiden lily. 

Legend saith, at midnight hour 

Sobs and wails the charmed flower. 

Ever " Harold ! Harold ! " calling 

Till the light of morn is falling. 

If it be the lily wailing 

Till the gloom of night is paling. 

Or the waves that meet and mingle. 

Whispering on the stony shingle. 

This is known to God, All-Seeing, 

Not to any mortal being. 

Summers five and threescore ending. 

She shall waken, reascending 

From the wave a blooming maiden. 

Not with hopeless sorrow laden j 

Gone the trouble that oppressed her. 

Mary, Mother, save and rest her ! 



MY DREAM 

OUT with the buttercup blossoms, 
Down on the clover hay, 
Years ago was it, or yesterday, 
I sat me down to play ? 

The earth was drunken with sunshine. 
The air with happiness stirred. 

My heart was beating with music 
And sang to my soul like a bird. 

Plucking the buttercup blossoms. 
Watching the clouds and the skies, 

I know not if slumber surprised me, 
Or sunshine had dazzled my eyes, — 

Hidden were blossom and sunlight. 

Hushed were the songs from the trees. 

Sullen and gray were the heavens. 
Moaned in the forest the breeze. 



23 



Dead in my heart was the music, 
Sad were my musings, and drear. 

Youth had deserted my bosom. 
Chill was the landscape and sere. 

Which was the dream, and which real — 
The music, the sunshine, the spring. 

Or autumn, its gloom and its storm clouds, 
Its dry leaves where icicles cling ? 

The dream of old age and of autumn 

Is surely naught but a dream ; 
The springtime, the youth, and the fragrance 

Are real, and true as they seem. 

Ah me ! though I know I am dreaming. 
From slumber not yet can I break. 

The vision of age is unreal, 

A dream — but I cannot awake ! 



24 



ASPIRATION 

CALLING from the mystic distance, 
Voices low and sweet I hear; 
Night and day with strange persistence 
Call these voices soft and clear ; 

Call from hill and shadowy dingle, 

From the river and the sea ; 
With all sounds the voices mingle, 

Always do they plead with me. 

In the mart's discordant noises. 

Through the strife and din of gain. 

Sing these sweet, mysterious voices. 
Sing their pure unworldly strain. 

When I hear them low and sweetly 
Pierce the world's tumultuous din. 

Other sounds I lose completely 
And my life seems poor and thin. 



25 



Then my soul is strongly lifted 
Far above earth's petty jars, 

By some sweeping current drifted 
With the current of the stars. 

O my voices ! come still nearer, 
Take me from the world apart, 

Sing to me your songs yet clearer, 
Make your home within my heart. 



26 



A SUNSET PICTURE 



w 



'HEN the sunset's crimson fire 
Brightens hill, and tree, and spire, 
And the city's myriad noises weary heart, and soul, and 
brain ; 
Through the din, and dust, and bustle, 
Comes the forest's whispering rustle. 
And I go to keep my trysting, far adown the narrow lane. 

Where the brook is swiftly leaping. 

Or in still pool softly sleeping, 
Every ripple in the sunlight is a wave of crimson flame ; 

Red and gold above are glowing. 

Red and gold the brook is flowing. 
Burns the sunset in the wave as if the brook from sunset 
came. 

Down the valley's sweeping vista, 
In the distance warm and misty. 



27 



Lies the many-steepled city, basking in the closing day ; 
Flash the panes with sunset brightness, 
And the great dome's rosy whiteness 

Rises in the evening purple, like a cloud that floats away. 

From the willow branches airy, 
Fitting home for elf and fairy, 
Pours a gush of hymn-like music, filling all the lonely 
glen; 
Dropping through the sunset splendor 
Come the full notes, sweet and tender. 
From amid the swinging branches where is hid the mock- 
ing wren. 

From the east the night is falling ; 
One lone owl his mate is calling 
Where the cedars' ink-black shadows crown with gloom the 
rocky steep. 
As I wander homeward slowly. 
Night and silence, pure and holy. 
Calm my spirit, as a mother sings her fevered child to 
sleep. 



28 



TO COLLETTE 

O MAIDEN fair, with sunny hair, come to me for an 
hour. 
With one sweet smile bribe Death awhile — he will relax 

his power ; 
Come while the day fades into gray ; I wait thee by the tree, 
And in thy presence I shall smile, from grief a moment free. 

sweet Collette ! a wild regret at evening dims my eyes ; 
Each rising morn anew is born my grief that never dies ; 
Through long, long years comes to my ears thy voice of 

love and song ; 

1 hear the accents in the mart where worldlings crowd and 

throng. 

I sit and dream beside the stream made sacred by thy love, 
The same broad tree that sheltered thee, sighs in the air 

above ; 
The liquid flow of waves below comes like thy whispered 

tone. 
And seems to tell my aching heart that I am not alone. 

29 



Around my seat I hear thy feet bend low the silken grass; 
Is it the breeze in vine and trees, or does thy spirit pass ? 
Thy hand is now upon my brow, I feel its youthful glow ; 
'T is not the perfumed southern wind, — thy gentle touch I 
know. 

I turn to press with fond caress the hand which seems so 

near, — 
No tender clasp returns my grasp, thy voice no more I hear. 
Leave me not yet, O young Collette ! this is thy olden 

bower j 
Here in the evening's golden light remain another hour. 

The red clouds fade; a deeper shade hides tree, and hill, 

and plain ; 
A pale, cool mist, by moonbeams kissed, creeps from the 

darksome lane ; 
Gone from my ken are hill and glen ; they vanished with 

the day ; — 
Or am I drifting into night, from hope and life away ? 

How ghostly white, across my sight, the moonlit clouds 

float by ; 
How tenderly comes up to me the soft wave's mournful 

sigh ! 
From dusky hill the whip-poor-will chants out his elfin tale ; 
I listen to these sounds of night, and only hear a wail. 

30 



O maiden fair, with sunny hair, come back for one short 

hour! 
Bribe Death awhile with one sweet smile, — he will forget 

his power; 
Come to my night like morning light ; bring sunshine to 

my sky, 
Then clasp my hand, and life may pass, — I were content 

to die. 



31 



TO AN AUTUMN VIOLET 

DEAR relic of a vanished spring, 
Sweet floweret, lone and wild. 
How could the chilly autumn bring 
So bright and frail a child ? 

Thy hue is just as warm and deep, 

As though the golden ray 
Of spring had waked thee from thy sleep, 

To gentle, genial day. 

All sadly looks the autumn scene. 
The leaves are brown and sere. 

The fields have lost their pleasant green. 
And wanes the aged year. 

But thou, dear blossom, in thy place 

Beneath the sheltering tree. 
Hast still a smile of spring-like grace. 

For Autumn and for me. 



32 



Still upward looks thy purple eye, 
As cheerful and as bright, 

As though above thee bent a sky 
All warm with summer light. 

O that the coming frost would spare 
Thy trusting, tender head. 

And every gale with gentle care 
Pass lightly by thy bed ! 

But ere to-morrow's struggling ray 
Shall pale night's clouded gloom, 

Thy little life will flee away. 
And snow will hide thy tomb. 



33 



THE CAGED MOCKING BIRD'S SONG 

I HEAR the green woods of the south breathe softly in 
my ear ; 
A whispered invitation comes which I alone can hear ; 
It speaks to me of sunny lands where summer always shines, 
Where purple clusters of the grape forever load the vines, 
And bids me leave this chilly clime whose cold rains drench 

the earth, 
And seek a fairer, brighter home where summer has her 

birth. 
And I would go, — O how my heart yearns for that sunny 

shore ! 
But I may never see its groves and green savannas more. 
Long, long ago, before hard fate had doomed me here to 

pine, 
A noble oak tree was my home, roofed by a spreading vine ; 
Beneath this green and fragrant dome, where silver echoes 

play, 
I poured my spirit out in song, and dreamed my life away. 
I whispered music to the trees when noon lay on the hill ; 
The goldfinch as he heard my lay ceased in his liquid trill ; 

34 



The cool, dark places of the wood rang to my dreamy lay, 
And, charmed amid the, chestnut boughs, the squirrel ceased 

to play. 
But when the balmy southern night had hushed the gentle 

breeze. 
When, quivering like a silver veil, the moon lay on the trees, 
When flecks of pearl-like clouds went by, like fairy ships, 

above. 
And a,ll the earth, the air, the sky, were tremulous with love, 
Then from my secret soul my song went out the night to 

cheer ; 
The moonlit landscape hushed its voice and held its breath 

to hear. 
Still stronger in my swelling breast the panting music grew. 
Still wilder, deeper grew my song with every breath I drew ; 
The whip-poor-will, whose lonely note at times had waked 

the night. 
Grew still before my rushing lay, and listened with delight. 
So full of music was my heart I madly wished to die ; 
I longed to pierce the secret fields within the purple sky. 
Where through the long and silent night the bright stars 

always shone. 
So changeless, smiling on the earth, mysterious and alone. 
Then upward through the dewy air I turned my rapid 

flight. 
Up through the moonlight, toward the stars, up through 
the solemn night, 

35 



I sought the gateway of the sky, beyond whose portals lay 
Delicious fields of fairer flowers, bathed in a brighter day. 
Yet ever baffled in my search, my drooping wing would fail, 
And weary with my upward flight I sought the moonlit vale. 
And poured again my spirit forth, a longing for the sky, 
A wish for one diviner song, then satisfied, to die. 
But never to my thirsting soul has come the sky-born lay. 
The cruel trapper of the wood has reft my soul away ; 
I see no more the southern palms, no kindred voice is near, 
My weary, wasted life I pass, a hopeless captive here. 



36 



SONG 

PLUCK the rosebud while the dew 
Fresher makes its rosy hue, 
For when noon is in the sky 
Rosebuds wither, droop, and die ; 
If we lose their morning glow, 
Noon but faded leaves can show. 

Pluck the rose of Love in youth. 
Lest in age we gather ruth. 

Seek the moonlight when, in June, 
Evening breezes sing their rune. 
When the hills are shadowy white 
And a paler day seems night ; 
Clouds will soon make dark the sky, 
Seek the moonlight ere it fly. 

Seek the light of Love in youth, 
, Lest in age we find but ruth. 



37 



Listen to the birds of spring 
When their tender songs they sing, 
When the earth is full of bloom 
And we fear not cloud nor gloom ; 
Soon comes winter, chill and gray. 
And the song birds flee away. 

Listen to Love's song in youth, 
Lest in age we hear but ruth. 



38 



MY FRIEND 

UPON a lofty, barren hill there stands a lonely tree, 
One stern survivor only left, where thousands used 

to be; 
A single string of that great harp whose soul in music spoke. 
When, rushing from the cloudy east, the driving tempest 

broke. 
I watch at eve that lonely tree, red with the failing light, 
And mark it slowly fade from view as darkens down the 

night. 
Yet when the deepest darkness reigns, I know that on the 

hill. 
Through midnight hours that grand old tree, unwearied, 

watches still. 
I love it as a human friend ; I feel that night can bring, 
While he keeps watch so faithfully, to me no evil thing. 
I turn my last glance to his form when evening slowly dies. 
My first look seeks him when the morn glows in the eastern 

skies. 
I climb the hill when day is gone and sit beneath the tree. 
To catch its voice and tune my soul to its high melody ; 

39 



I hear it breathe when through the leaves the evening wind 

is blown, 
Soft whispers of mysterious things, in low, sweet monotone. 
And when, save this low breathing voice, no other sound 

is heard. 
My thoughts turn backward to the past, old memories are 

stirred. 
I feel the happy glow of youth ; I see the foamy rill 
Glide from the shadows of the glen and leap adown the hill ; 
I see the hawk, a feathered speck, sail through the sunny 

sky; 
I watch the shadows of the clouds along the pastures fly ; 
The bees are in the clover field, I hear their busy hum ; 
The scents of old, forgotten flowers across the distance 

come ; 
The bending mowers swing their scythes ; and in the sun- 
flecked shade. 
Where winds a path beside the trees, along the grassy glade, 
A brown-haired maiden trips along ; oh, how supremely fair 
The whole earth seemed when first my hand dared smooth 

that silken hair; 
When first I dared, with beating heart, to look deep in those 

eyes. 
Pure as the dew within a rose, and bluer than the skies ! 
From out the stillness and the dark I hear the owl's weird 

scream ; 
I cannot tell if I am young, or if I only dream. 

40 



And yet I know that youth is gone ; I sit beneath the tree, 
And in the murmur of its leaves old days come back to me ; 
But dreams will sometimes cheer the heart, and mine has 

fresher grown 
For dreaming underneath the tree of days that long have 

flown. 
Old tree, I ask not from thy leaves the tale of coming years, 
I would not know my future life, perchance 't is sad with 

tears ; 
It is enough thy spell can bring youth's brightness back 

once more. 
And on the sombre, present days its sun-bright glory pour. 



41 



DRIPPING SPRING 

(Cabin John Creek, District of Columbia) 

^ROM the cold rocks softly slipping, 
Down the pendant mosses dripping, 
Comes the water, cool and shining as the early morning 
light; 
Here in streamlets fine and single. 
There they meet, combine, and mingle, — 
Never ceasing pours the water from, the subterranean night. 

While the wood in noon is sleeping, 

And the birds are silence keeping, 
I can hear the spring's soft patter whisper in the pool below ; 

And the water's murmurous singing 

Long forgotten thoughts is bringing 
From the days of childhood's sunshine, from the land of 
Long Ago. 



42 



Voices speak, so real, seeming 

Like our lost ones heard when dreaming. 
That I lift my head to answer ; then they change to mur- 
murs low, 

Change to sounds of water flowing. 

Of the stream forever going. 
And the seeming from the real scarcely may I surely know. 



43 



DEATH : A VISION 

\ T night I dreamed of spectres drear : 
,ZjL Fantastic shapes of pain and fear 
Across the dark drew slowly near. 

Men bowed with grief, men red with shame ; 
Blasphemers giving God the blame 
Of their own sin, before me came. 

Women with faces still and white 
Came forward through the murky night, 
With sad eyes watching for the light. 

Children with soft lips white with fears, 
Their pure young eyes all dim with tears. 
Their faces older than their years. 

Were searching for some missing face 
Throughout that thronged and dreary space. 
Yet found it not in all the place. 



4+ 



Fear dwelt in every sleepless eye ; 
Some terror seemed forever nigh 
From which they vainly strove to fly. 

In countless myriads came the throng; 
The sick, the well, the weak, the strong, 
Sinner and sinless swept along. 

And over all hung densest night ; 

On every side, to left, to right 

I searched, but saw no ray of light. 

Only the myriad faces shone 
With a pale lustre of their own, — 
No light was there save this alone. 

And this faint light did not prevail 
Against the midnight's heavy veil ; 
It only showed the wanderers, pale. 

Then far above the moving stream 

I saw a dim and vapory gleam 

Like the first flash of morning's beam ; 

And in the midst came slow to sight 
A glorious form, supremely bright. 
His light robes radiating light. 
45 



His face changed ever to the view ; 
Now terrible, now sweet it grew; 
Ever it changed to somewhat new. 

And on the press below his feet 

He bent a look so sadly sweet, 

I longed his tender glance to meet j 

For, so it seemed, that look would bring 
Peace unto each created thing. 
Answers to every questioning. 

Then, stooping down, he took the hand 

Of one among that countless band 

Which wandered through the midnight land. 

And drew him softly to his breast 
As he would lull him into rest 
Sweeter than ever mortal blessed. 

But terror seized the wanderer's heart ; 
He strove the angel's hands to part. 
Struggled from that kind breast to start. 

But, when in that majestic face 
He gazed, all fear and weariness 
To measureless content gave place. 
46 



And when the wanderer's doubts were stilled, 
And warm his heart that fear had chilled, 
And trust his weary bosom filled. 

Up towards a pulsing light that beamed 
From far above, and downward streamed. 
The angel lifted him who dreamed ; 

And half seen arms received him there 
And smiles from lips divinely fair 
Banished all memory of care. 

But ere the wanderer vanished quite. 

Within the soft celestial light. 

His face had grown serenely bright ; 

And tenfold life shone in his eyes ; 
His countenance put on a guise 
Like that of souls in Paradise, 

And then he vanished in the glow. 
And ever from the throng below 
That wandered aimless to and fro. 

One after one the angel took, 

Stilled with a touch the hearts that shook 

And banished terror by his look. 

47 



This word of truth the vision saith 
Life lives not in our daily breath, 
The life of Life is found in Death. 



48 



AUTUMN SIGNS 

MIDSUMMER wraps the earth in heat, 
The odorous noon is still ; 
The day's warm heart seems scarce to beat ; 

The dark pines on the hill 
Stand like enchanted sentinels 
That stir not till the enchanter calls. 

Along the far horizon's rim 

Hangs poised a cloudy line 
Of vaporous peaks whose summits dim 

With misty sunlight shine. 
It is midsummer's fullest tide. 
Can autumn with midsummer bide ? 

Even in midsummer's richest flush 

Autumn has found a place, 
The wandering woodbine's burning blush 

His earliest kisses trace ; 
Her leaves with his first touch are bright 
And glow beneath the noonday light. 
49 



The bluebird haunts the woody dell, 

And by his pensive lay 
He tells the listener all too well 

Of summer's fading day ; 
His joy in sweetest music drest 
Brings yet a sadness to the breast. 

So life amid its brightest glow 

Has moments when the eye 
Looks forward to the vale below 

Where heavy shadows lie j 
And from its happy, golden years 
Sees clouds whose gloom shall break in tears. 



50 



THE GIFT 



IT was evening, and the sun 
Long had vanished j one by one 
Came the stars the sky upon, 
And the Toiler's work was done. 

II 

Peaceful on his bed he lay. 
Dreaming of the toil of day ; 
Weariness had passed away — 
Near to sleep it cannot stay. 

Ill 

Pale the sleeper grew, and chill ; 
Still he lay, so very still. 
That to wake he had no will ; 
Haply, naught his heart could thrill. 



51 



IV 



Yet a whisper smote his ear / 
Came it far, or rose it near, 
On his sense it struck so clear 
That at first he shrank with fear. 



And the whisper seemed to say : 
" Why with toil and sorrow stay 
When to rest I point the way ? 
Leave them far behind to-day. 

VI 

*' Lo ! the gift I give is sweet, 
Rest it brings to weary feet. 
Peace to hearts that sadly beat ; 
Life and joy it makes complete." 

VII 

And the sleeper, dreaming on. 
Wakes not at the morning's dawn, 
Far away his soul is drawn, 
With the Giver it has gone. 



52 



VIII 



And upon his mouth there lies, 
And his closely lidded eyes, 
Joyful, infinite surprise 
At the gift and Giver wise. 



53 



THE HEART'S WINTER 

?•" I ^ IS winter time. The wood is still, 

A No more the birds its arches fill 
With airy song and tremulous trill. 

The thousand summer birds have fled, 
The myriad summer flowers are dead, 
And frost and winter rule instead. 

Yet one sweet bird, in cold and storm, 
Keeps his brave heart with music warm. 
Though whirling snowflakes round him swarm. 

One bird alone, the mocking wren. 
Sings from the pine adown the glen. 
Sweet as he sang in springtime, when 

The woods were bright with shy, young flowers, 
And sunshine trembled through warm showers. 
And love and music marked the hours. 



54 



That lovely song brings back again 
The memory of a sweeter strain 
Hid in the chambers of my brain. 

A song of love and joy and youth, 
Of glowing hope and stainless truth. 
Ah ! not a thought was there of ruth. 

No thought was there of doubt or fear ; 
Too full of music was my ear 
Such low, sad whisperings to hear j 

Too full of light my eyes to see 
Life's chilly shadows nearing me 
Across the breadth of years to be. 

I did not know that sorrow's moan 
Could mingle with love's sweetest tone. 
Till sorrow's voice was heard alone. 

Sometimes at eve, when on the sky 
Dark clouds of stormy portent lie, 
Lifting their gloomy summits high. 

Some rift athwart the ridges cold, 
Lets through the sunset's quickening gold ; 
Then the mirk vapors, fold on fold, 
55 



With sudden, vivid splendor blaze, 

Making the west a fiery maze 

Where more than noonday brightness plays. 

Forgot is all the stormy gray ; 

The threatening gloom is chased away 

By light, which seems returning day. 

But suddenly the glory dies ; 

The sunset splendor leaves the skies. 

And night on cloud and landscape lies. 

So this dark day of cloud and snow. 
Touched by a bird song sweet and low, 
Gives back my youth's divinest glow ; 

And sorrow, age and snow are gone. 
Back through the years my soul is drawn 
Into the warmth of Life's young dawn. 

Above the dim horizon far, 
Rises my golden morning star, 
With not a cloud its light to mar. 

Gone are the years of grief and pain. 
And youth and love have come again, 
Over my heart for aye to reign. 
56 



For aye ? — The bird his singing stills, 
A sudden brooding silence fills 
The circuit of the snowy hills ; 

And slowly into memory's hold 
Drift back the lights of rose and gold, 
Leaving my world to gloom and cold. 

As the fair vision disappears. 

The songs of love die in my ears, 

And life looks sad through gathered tears. 



57 



I888-I889 

ANOTHER wave breaks at my feet ; 
Another cycle is complete ; 
Of Time's great heart another beat. 

Twelve months agone, the winter skies, 
Watched by Orion's starry eyes, 
Trembled to earth-born harmonies; 

For, drifting from Eternity, 

Another year began to be. 

And men rejoiced its birth to see. 

What gifts the newborn year might bring ; 
What flowers along his path would spring; 
What songs should love and rapture sing ! 

Not as of old should grief and pain 

Mar with their gloom the new year's reign. 

Nor sorrow seek for rest in vain. 



And now that year of promise dies, 
As up the midnight's frosty skies 
Another year begins to rise. 

How much of good that dead year brought ; 
How much by loss our hearts he taught ; 
And yet how different from our thought ! 

Some flowers along his pathway grew, 

Roses at times, and bitter rue. 

And passing clouds shut out the blue. 

Ah ! not the sweetest hour of spring, 
Nor fairest day his June might bring, 
Could equal our imagining. 

For Hope's fair light was in our eyes. 
Sorrow was hid in pleasure's guise. 
And Life should give its royal prize. 

Now, while Orion's changeless blaze 
Watches the old year's closing days, 
On what he brought we sadly gaze. 

Life's royal prize we did not win. 
But ripened sheaves of selfish sin 
We did not fail to gather in. 
59 



Some gifts whose worth we valued not 
He took again, and sternly taught, 
By loss, a higher, purer thought. 

Pain gave he as a precious thing ; 
And grief, — no better could he bring 
To lift the soul on lofty wing. 

Taught by the old, we trust the new, 

With roses take the bitter rue, 

And cloud and tempest with the blue. 



60 



THE DESERTED HOUSE 

A GRAY old house, some mossy trees, 
Pale lilac blossoms, humming bees, 
Grass hiding half the threshold stone. 
The windows broken, dwellers gone. 
Near by the downy catnip grows. 
And in the grass a thorny rose. 
Tall, sun-tanned lilies holding up 
To catch the sunshine, each her cup. 
Nod to the breeze in dreamy trance. 
Like wild Bacchantes tired with dance. 
All tenderly the sunshine falls 
Upon the weather-blackened walls. 
And through the windows fills the rooms 
And chases out the haunting glooms. 
A vine beside the casement clings 
And in the warm air lightly swings. 
And peering through the shattered pane. 
Looks for the old, sweet life in vain. 
Yet while I muse, the bees' soft hum 
Seems from the far, dead years to come, 
6i 



And grows to sound of pattering feet, 

And childish laughter, thrilling sweet. 

How sunny look those warm, past years. 

As if they had no clouds or tears ; 

But in the shade of yonder oak 

Three mossy gravestones, rude and broke. 

Record the grief which dimmed the light 

Of those old days which seem so bright. 

The bobolink on tremulous wings 

Floats by and passionately sings, 

Sending a rain of music down 

Which floods the old house, bleak and brown. 

Hope, love, affection, joy, and tears 

Have perished with the perished years ; 

Homes shaped by strong hands long ago. 

Stand roofless to the rain and snow; 

All things are changed save only one ; 

As sang the birds long years agone 

They sing to-day ; the selfsame tunes 

Thrilled the blue air of vanished Junes, 

Which make the echoes sing this morn 

As music had been newly born. 

Strange that the walls so strongly planned 

Should yield to time's destroying hand. 

Yet drifting down a century's range. 

The robin's song should never change. 



62 



From those old days, 't is sad to think, 
The June song of the bobolink. 
Pulsing, immortal, through the years. 
Survives all human joys and fears. 
But as the rain and evening dew 
Fall on the hill and pass from view. 
Though seeming lost appear again. 
As fountains on the distant plain. 
So did the love, which here begun, 
To other hearts and regions run. 
And growing broader in its flow. 
Refresh more souls than we can know ; 
And every drop of Love's sweet stream 
Reflects God's heaven in its gleam. 



63 



THREE GIFTS 

LIFE 

STILL and white a woman lies ; 
Earth returns to heart and eyes ; 
Death no longer she descries, 
But Life, a child from Paradise. 

LOVE 

Heart to heart they stand alone. 
Youth and maiden, two but one. 
Love's sweet rainbow o'er them thrown 
Naught they know but love alone. 

DEATH 

Still and white a woman lies ; 
Earth has faded from her eyes, 
But her failing sight descries 
Light from coming Paradise. 



64 



QUESTIONINGS 

I HAVE not lived ; give me one hour, 
Great with my life's concentred power ; 
A moment when my eyes may gaze 
Unblinded on Truth's whitest rays, 
And on my dull, unnoting ears 
Vibrate the music of the spheres. 
Life must be more than food or sleep, 
Than fretting cares and riches cheap ; 
I weary of such things as these, 
The shallow stir of shallow seas. 
Give me the swing of surges deep. 
When thought's great ocean wakes from sleep. 
And dashes with resistless shock 
On stagnant Life's foundation rock. 
I question Nature of the force 
Which swells the buds in spring's slow course ; 
Which draws the birds from lands of sun 
To wilds where spring has scarce begun ; 
Which drifts the tides unrestingly 
Through stormy leagues of heaving sea ; 
65 



But never comes an answer clear, 

Only a thought of doubt and fear, 

That all we know, that all we see. 

Is so, — because it so must be ; 

Which leaves all things, how small or great. 

The sport of an unreasoning Fate. 

Before the earth had ever seen 

A flower expand, a leaf grow green, 

Some mind had shaped their whole design. 

Had laid in thought their every line, 

Ere the first spring had warmed the earth. 

And gave the thought material birth. 

Yet deeper hid, some purpose lurks 

Behind the Great Inventor's works. 

What is the central thought which glows 

Beneath this landscape's charmed repose ? 

The lovely earth around me lies. 

Its sky-like seas, its sea-like skies ; 

Far mountains, blue as amethyst ; 

Long valleys fading in the mist ; 

Flowers pure enough to meet the eyes 

Of those who dwell in Paradise ; 

Broad forests on the hillsides rest. 

Morn warms the east, eve cools the west. 

The gray rocks of the shadowy cliffs 

Are eloquent with hieroglyphs. 



66 



God's poems, writ in lichens pale, 

But what Champollion reads the tale ? 

Alas ! we scarcely know as yet 

One letter of God's alphabet. 

Not merely for the careless eye 

Is all this loveliness of sky ; 

Nor that the soul delighted sees 

Broad leagues of valleys, lakes, and trees, 

Was this fair scene in beauty wrought 

By process of creative thought. 

We fain would think the primal plan 

Was all arranged for last-born man ; 

That earth for him was ploughed with fire. 

Wrenched and convulsed by earthquakes dire. 

By crushing glaciers rolled and pressed. 

To smooth the way for Nature's guest. 

But why for man before the brute 

Bears kindly earth its annual fruit ? 

Was the great Sun's eternal blaze 

Hung in the sky, to send its rays 

Through measureless space to fill the eye 

Of man, that he may sell and buy ? 

Unless we soar to greater acts, 

Find deeper truths in common facts. 

Take Nature's greatness for our guide 

And make our living free and wide. 



6'] 



Then is creation far too great, 

Man's outgrowth incommensurate 

With the great forces brought in play 

To raise him from insensate clay — 

The mighty earthquake's heave and thrust 

To lift a mote of lightest dust. 

Yet it may be, by slow degrees 

Gathering truth through centuries, 

His vision, purified, shall see 

The way to be divinely free. 

And learn if the creative plan 

Perfects itself by birth of man ; 

Or if the distant years shall see 

A being greater far than he 

Walking the earth with kingly tread. 

Whence man and all his works have fled, 

Save grassy mounds, within whose breast 

The wrecks of our fair cities rest. 

And ruined sculpture, rough and stained, 

Exhumed by chance, to be disdained. 



68 



MERIDIAN HILL 

^ROM this hilltop, far extended 
Till the earth and sky are blended, 
Stretch broad valley, stream, and city, blushing in the evening 
sun ; 
On the slowly winding river 
Dancing wavelets shine and quiver 
As if loveof air and sunshine made them sparkle, leap, and run. 

In the sunset's golden shimmer 
How countless windows glimmer ! 

Through the rosy haze of evening, seems it like a fairy spot ; 
Distant bells are softly ringing. 
Birds their vesper songs are singing; 

Not more fair than this bright city shone old " dim, rich 
Camelot." 

Near at hand the oak trees hoary, 
Whisper in the fading glory 
Tales of eld, and as I listen, sweet, sad thoughts their mur- 
mur brings ; 

69 



Through my heart their voices seeking, 
Seem like memory faintly speaking, 
Or like Death when death is welcome; or a love-song when 
Love sings. 

Slowly fades the sunset splendor; 

In the zenith, white and tender, 
Shines one star, a crown of glory on immortal Orpheus' lyre. 

O that his strong soul descending, 

With my feeble spirit blending. 
Might illumine all my being with his deathless poet-fire ! 

Wending homeward, earth seems lonely. 

Is it Friendship, or Love only. 
Has the power to lift the spirit upward into radiant morn ? 

As the night with stars is sparkling. 

So my soul, though now all darkling. 
Soon shall see its darkness brighten, as Hope's golden light 
is born. 



70 



TO A FOREST SPRING 

AD OWN the mosses green and bright, 
Thou streamest like a thing of light, 
Cool as the rocks that gave thee birth, 
And pure as if untouched by earth. 
Born in the depths to light unknown, 
In gloom thou wanderest alone 
Where sunless strata, worn and old 
Thy youth in secret places hold. 
Yet when thou comest into day. 
It is as if a sparkling ray 
Had dropped from out the rainbow's sheen 
To shine among the mosses green. 
How couldst thou learn in rayless night 
The endless play of skyborn light ; 
Have such a gloomy natal place. 
And bear of gloom no single trace ? 

pure, bright spring, I look at thee, 
And hope it may be so with me ; 

1 too may find some perfect day. 
When gloom and sin shall drop away, 
And leave my soul unscarred and bright, 
A child, like thee, of cloudless light. 

71 



THE COSMIC MORNING 



THEN came to me, or if a real voice, 
Or by some power impressed upon my soul 
I know not, but I seemed to hear these words : 
" Arise and follow ; " and I blindly went.- 
The sky was trembling with its myriad stars ; 
The white young moon, low in the twilight west, 
Just dipped its crescent to the horizon's line. 
From the far north where blue Capella gleamed, 
Down the long line of soft, galactic fire, 
Aldebaran, Orion, Sirius 
Burned in a mighty line as if to mark 
The boundary of some outer universe. 
Ruled, haply, by another God than ours. 
Then, ere a thought could pulse across my brain, 
I felt myself seized by resistless power. 
And swifter than the undulating rush 
Of the white rays of light across the void 
From star to star, we darted into space. 
Onward and outward through the countless stars, 
Toward the white, lambent Galaxy we swept, 
72 



And ere had passed such time as on the earth 
Barely suffices for two quickened breaths, 
We rushed into and passed the scorching hght 
Which mighty Sirius scatters into space ; 
Still on and outward, till the silvery mist 
Of the far Milky Way grew into stars, 
Grew into blazing suns, shrunk back to stars, 
Then far behind it paled once more to mist 
Which in a moment melted into naught ; 
On to a region where the eye of man. 
Aided -howe'er by mirror, lens, or prism 
Has never reached : still on, and on, and on, 
Till glancing back the universe of stars 
Had shrunk and dwindled to one radiant point. 
Then that, the last sign of creating power. 
That ray connecting me with God and light 
Utterly vanished, whelmed in night and gloom. 
The universe of light and life and love. 
Of planets, worlds, and suns was blotted out, 
And darkness which had never known how sweet 
It is to tremble to a ray of light, 
A silence which through the eternities 
Had never felt the impact of a sound 
Enveloped me in horror. I had passed 
Beyond the bound of all created things 
And entered on a starless void of space 
Where life and light, and sound and God were not. 
73 



The dreadful silence of that infinite night, 
Whose darkness was like that which brooded space 
When God alone existed, ere the suns, 
By Him spoke into being, scattered light, 
Made me to cling in terror to my Guide. 
Then backward toward the way from whence we came 
I turned to catch perchance a single gleam 
From the far universe of sparkling stars. 
No ray pierced through the dread unbroken gloom. 
Night, silence, terror held my shuddering soul ; 
I turned away, wishing that friendly Death 
Would close my eyes forever. But I felt 
Death's realm extended not where life was not 
And I had swept so far beyond all life. 
So far had Death himself been left behind. 
That he might search until himself should die 
And I be undiscovered. Then my Guide 
Or spoke, or on my brain impressed his thought : 
" Lift up thine eyes once more." And looking back 
Along the way we came I saw a spot 
Of nebulous light shiver the horrent gloom. 
O sweeter than the sweetest golden dawn 
To him who longs for morning, was that ray 
To my search-wearied eyes. Slowly it grew 
Brighter and larger to my eager sight. 
And then, O wondrous God ! that single ray 
Grew double, triple, myriad-fold, until 

74 



The number seemed infinity. And I 

Watched that unspeakable drift of dazzling light, 

That visible sign of Him, the Uncreate, 

Roll out the infinite, astronomic morn 

Into the lifeless void of ancient night 

And fill all space with glory. On they swept. 

Stars, suns, and systems, flashing new-born light 

Into the gloom which rolled forever back 

Before these morning bringers. More and more 

Farther and farther outward swept the tide. 

Until the firmament above, below. 

Where had been night from all eternity 

Now trembled with the pulse of youthful suns : — 

And then the vision vanished : And I sat 

Alone among my books ; and from a spire 

Came the slow strokes which told the hour — one — two 



75 



ANACREONTIC 

LOVE is sleeping ; silence keep ; 
• Wake him not, if you would sleep ; 
Waking, gentle songs he sings. 
Opening buds and sweets he brings. 
Like a friend he plays his part, 
But — he always steals the heart. 
Watch him closely as you will, 
Guard yourself with greatest skill, 
Hold his thievish fingers tight, 
He will find, by day or night, 
Artful means to make you rest. 
While he robs your aching breast. 
Love is sleeping; let him sleep, 
Lest he wake to make you weep. 



16 



A SUMMER SUNRISE 

THE world is new created every morn. 
God's spirit moves upon the face of night, 
And morning, loveliness, and light are born. 
Thick darkness broods upon the earth ; the stars 
From their unchanging thrones look coldly down. 
As if forgetful of that primal morn 
When the first sunrise blazed across the sky, 
And they, the youthful stars, with choric song 
Swelled the glad shouting of the sons of God. 
No breath of air flutters the dewy leaves ; 
Silence unbroken reigns, save far away 
The slumbrous murmur of a drowsy brook 
Comes softly, like a sleeping infant's sigh. 
The dim horizon in the shadowy east. 
Fringed by an ink-black line of silent trees, 
Seems like a barrier impassable 
Between the land of night and some far world 
Where everlasting morning reigns supreme. 
But while I wait, a low, dim line of gray 
Lifts the dense darkness from the ghostly trees, 

n 



A faint, half promise of another morn, 
Like the cold gray that crowns an old man's head. 
The first pale ray of his swift coming dawn. 
Which brings to him, through death, immortal day. 
From copses dripping with the night's chill dew 
Low bird songs stir the silence ; and a breath 
Of spicy air just wakened from its sleep 
Rustles among the leaves and silken grass, 
As if the shadowy spirits of the night. 
Seeing the morn upon the eastern hills, 
Made haste to hide them from the coming day. 
The sky grows warm with streams of ruddy gold. 
Which flush the morn's pale cheek with tender red ; 
The mountains glow with purple ; day is born. 
Great waves of light roll from the glowing east 
And break in scarlet foam among the stars. 
From hill to hill the level rays extend. 
Bridging with yellow light the lingering gloom ; 
The shadows hide themselves beneath the trees, 
And, fresh and dewy from the hand of God, 
Another day shines on the happy earth. 
Created as of old from shapeless gloom. 



78 



A WINTER SUNSET 

POINTING the way to quiet, rocky vales, 
A narrow lane leads out to freer air ; 
Leads to the dales where shady forests stand, 
To windy hilltops, and to wider skies. 
I trace the creek along its winding course, 
And where the water leaps the thwarting dam, 
And breaks from stillness into joyous sound, 
I hear soft whispers in the low, deep rush. 
That tell of forest secrets garnered up 
From rock and tree root. In the steady roar, 
I catch the thrush's love-song, and the sweet. 
Low warble of the white-eyed vireo. 
I hear all woodland sounds; and seem to hear 
The secret of the stream's immortal youth. 
Above the dam, the water still and dark 
Shows depth on depth; the floating cloud above. 
Now crimson with the sunset's fiery stain. 
Is seen below, as bright within the wave 
As where it floats above the darkening earth. 
Could we but keep our souls as pure and still, 
79 



What sky, as yet unknown, might not be seen 
Reflected in our spirit's deep repose ? 
Yet when the current of our daily lives 
Is checked a moment, headlong to the fall 
We blindly rush, not thinking that the check 
May bring a restful stillness to the life. 
And when the waves of fretting trouble sleep. 
The waiting mirror of the soul may catch 
The dawning brightness of diviner skies. 
The last pale flush of daylight fades away. 
And all is silent but the rushing fall. 
And from the wood the screech-owl's quivering hoot. 
I slowly walk along the winding path. 
Returning homeward by the lonely lane. 
The trees above me in the wintry air 
Stand like dim ghosts watching beside a grave ; 
And hill and forest wrapped in brooding night. 
Seem waiting for the morning light to dawn. 
The whole earth sleeps in frost ; and seeming death 
Holds all the woodland life in moveless trance ; 
Yet at the magic kiss of royal spring 
Ten thousand forms inspired anew with life 
Shall fill the world with beauty, love and song. 
I look far onward to the coming years 
And see a spring time which shall touch all men 
With newer life, and wake their souls to light ; 
The dry, bare forest of bewildered thought 
80 



Shall bud and blossom with poetic life 
And hide sweet singers in its flowery shade. 
And that new spring shall grow to riper days 
And bring the summer, whose lush growth shall be 
The sinless man, in God's own image made. 



8i 



A REMINISCENCE 

HOW many years have come and gone sinrce on this 
grassy swell 
I stood, while sunshine, birds, and flowers wove round my 

heart their spell, 
A spell whose sweetness lingers yet, and makes this morn- 
ing seem 
A vision of returning youth, dream-like, yet not a dream. 
The laughing brook still leaps and sings, but once its 

waters rolled 
Along the bowers of Fairy Land ; o'er sand and stones 

of gold. 
The sparrow trills the same sweet lay, and from the farm 

I hear 
The varied sounds of quiet life which charmed my youthful 

ear. 
Unchanged those purple hills appear, and still the lovely 

sky 
Bends down to kiss their sunny tops as in the days gone 

by. 
I live again in golden youth ; once more my pulses thrill 

8z 



With life too crowded for my heart, too warm for age to 

chill. 
Again I watch the silver clouds, and in their airy vales 
I fancy quiet, azure lakes, studded with snowy sails. 

how I gazed with heart entranced upon the lilac flowers ! 

1 saw within their purple glow the light of summer hours. 
At that sweet time, a day — an hour — was one long age 

of bliss ; 
Has manhood brought a real joy, more pure and full than 

this ? 
What fancies of a brighter life came to my untaught heart. 
When through the orchard's fragrant snow the humming- 
bird would dart ; 
Or like a stream of orange fire the oriole would fly, 
And fling his ringing melody down from the sunny sky. 
And when behind the sunny hill, fringed with the solemn 

pine. 
The sun, to end that endless day, would silently decline. 
It seemed as though eternity had crowded those few hours, 
And Paradise had strewn the earth with its unfading 

flowers. 
Then in the dim, mysterious west, where paling daylight 

shone, 
I saw upon the amber sky, great forests, dark and lone ; 
And golden towers and palaces, whose panes of fairy 

mould. 



83 



Were gleaming in the changing light, like ruddy burning 

gold. 
And as the deeper darkness came, when field, and tree, and 

stream 
Were hidden half and half revealed, like landscape in a 

dream. 
When softly through the three old pines the sighing wind 

would sing, 
What wild, weird fancies to my brain its melody would 

bring ! 
I watched the branches slowly wave, ink black against the 

west. 
And thought the great Arabian bird had come from some 

long quest. 
To lift me with resistless wing and set my willing feet 
Where round the towers of sunset gold the waves of even- 
ing beat. 



84 



REACHING 

THE wind is south ; a purple haze 
Makes dim the morning's yellow rays, 
In sheltered nooks the young grass springs, 
His matin song the sparrow sings, 
Thin lines of cirrus mark the sky. 
In crowded ranks the crows sweep by. 
The dark pine anchored on the hill 
Feels spring in every fibre thrill. 
And trembles to the whispered tones 
Brought by the wind from summer zones. 
I leave the city and the crowd, 
The restless life, the noises loud, 
And climb the hill, where, large and free, 
The broad sky bends to speak to me. 
I watch and wait ; the earth and sky 
Meet me with perfect sympathy. 
Not sooner moved by Nature's sway 
Is yon white cloud than I, to-day. 
Scarce hidden underneath the shroud 
Of springing leaf and floating cloud. 
The First Great Life seems visible 
85 



In bud and blossom, tree and hill. 
Imperial sky and flushing rose 
Their sacred mystery disclose — 
That source of life which gives them power 
To be broad sky and glowing flower. 
Immortal life pervades the whole ; 
A mystic, thinking, planning soul 
Embraces air, the sea, the land. 
The farthest star, the grain of sand ; 
Infinite in the sun's far whirl. 
Infinite in the tendril's curl. 
Creation has but reached its morn, 
But yesterday the suns were born. 
The cosmic morning's growing blaze 
Rolls outward o'er chaotic maze ; 
The foam of new creations pours 
In light along night's silent shores ; 
Drives back the line with rhythmic beat 
Where chaos and creation meet, 
Each bubble of the spreading zone 
A solar system like our own. 
Through drifting aeons grows the tide 
Of morning, spreading far and wide ; 
While dazzled thought sinks helpless back 
Striving to follow morning's track. 
Then turns to the great central Sun, 
The unknown, comprehending One, 
86 



Who, from His uncreated place, 

Pours universes into space. 

Beneath my foot the flower buds swell ; 

The never failing miracle 

Of order, force, of life, of God, 

Epitomized in this green sod. 

While suns this Life of life obey, 

Man lives obedient as they ; 

Ever he soars to greater height. 

Sees broader skies and clearer light. 

Draws nearer to the central power 

Which kindles stars and paints the flower. 



87 



DO YOU REMEMBER? 

A DAY of light, so fair and bright, 't is like a picture 
yet; 
The glory still is on the hill, its sun has never set ; 
The same warm breeze plays in the trees, the flowers the 

same bees woo ; 
It seems but yesterday to me ; do you remember too ? 

I see again the shaded lane, the sun, the grass, the bees ; 
We lingered long to hear the song of birds among the 

trees ; 
And when we found upon the ground the young bird, 

weak and chill. 
You held the bird, I clasped your hands ; do you remember 

still ? 

On hill and glade the shadows played that golden morn of 

June; 
From birds and bees among the trees there came a soft, 

low tune. 

88 



How cool and sweet beneath our feet the fragrant clover 

lay : 
Have you remembered through the years the sweetness of 

that day ? 

The sunny hill where leaped the rill, a stream of snowy 

spray, 
The deep ravine with mosses green, the rocks with lichens 

gray : 
That dim, cool nook beside the brook ; how thrilled the 

stolen kiss ! 
Through life I never can forget : do you remember this ? 

Far in the west the purple crest of Graylock met the sky ; 
A floating curl of cloudy pearl half hid him from the eye : 
Your look was turned where noonday burned on amethys- 
tine hill, 
I saw your amethystine eyes — and I remember still. 

Ah me ! that day has passed away ; swift years have fol- 
lowed years ; 

The world's dull care no dream will spare ; time does not 
stop for tears. 

But looking back on life's long track, old thoughts my 
feelings thrill. 

That walk along the shady lane do you remember still ? 

89 



TRYSTING 

I MADE a tryst with Love, to meet 
Among the meadow-blossoms sweet, 
When sunset fading into white 
Leaves earth embraced by tender night. 
I waited long; the mocking-bird 
Had surely of my trysting heard. 
For to the clover blooms he told 
Of one whose heart was dead and cold. 
Not hers for whom I watch and wait. 
For true as spring, which comes though late, 
And melts the ice, and brings the sun. 
Is she the pure, the peerless one. 
Why comes she not ? The evening star 
Is dying in the west afar. 
The fragrant clover nods in sleep 
While I, alone, my trysting keep. 
A deeper darkness hides the hill, 
The sighing wind grows sad and chill. 
O Love, I wait in pain and fear 
Thy footstep and thy voice to hear. 
Thou comest not. My soul to-night 
90 



Has lost the glow of Hope's sweet light, 
The clouds of fear hang black and low, 
Doubt's lightning gleams shoot to and fro. 
Be patient, heart. Though Love may fail 
To meet thee in Life's flowery vale. 
True Death, of friends the last and best, 
Fails not his tryst ; and gives thee rest. 



91 



"THROUGH THE CITY'S CEASELESS NOISE 

THROUGH the city's ceaseless noise, 
Through the busy, crowded mart. 
Came a tender, longing voice 

Piercing to my secret heart : 
As I listened, once again 
Came that voice of pleading pain. 

Gone vv^ere noise and steeds and men. 
And there rose in place of these 

Visions of a rocky glen. 

Shaded walks and mighty trees, 

And where coolest shadows lie 

Two were walking — thou and I. 

And I saw thy thoughts arise. 

Ere they shaped themselves in word 

Speaking from thy tender eyes 
Sweeter than the songs of birds : 

Didst thou think I had forgot ? 

Darling, O believe it not ! 
92 



O my dear one ! At thy feet 
Night and day my spirit kneels, 

And my heart at every beat 

Always thy dear presence feels : 

Nothing shall, while life is mine, 

Separate my soul from thine. 

During life ? Nay darling, yet. 
After Nature's powers have fled. 

And my body pays its debt. 

And the friends say, " He is dead," 

Shall I live through loving thee ; 

Love gives immortality. 

And we cannot go apart ; 

One forever we must be. 
One in love and one in heart 

Drifting through eternity. 
Though broad lands should intervene, 
Nothing comes our souls between. 

So I heard thy longing cry 
Far away — yet I was near. 

For my soul was standing by. 
Very close beside thee, dear : 

And my spirit looked in thine, 

Knew'st thou not how near was mine ? 
93 



THE BROOK 

A JUNE PICTURE 

DOWN the stony channel racing, 
Sun and shadow swiftly chasing, 
How the water foams and sparkles in its headlong haste to 
run ! 
Now beneath the bushes hiding, 
Softly now through still pools gliding, 
Flinging now its snowy foam-flakes upward toward the 
smiling sun. 

Where the elm trees standing, greenly, 
Bide both sun and storm serenely, 
Leaning softly to each other, bough to bough in happy 
trance. 
There the wild bird's love song, ringing. 
Mingles with the streamlet's singing. 
And the shadows flecked with sunlight seem to listen as 
they dance. 

Running now in sunshine golden. 
Over brown rocks worn and olden, 

94 



Like a child's laugh is its ripple, or a song by fairy sung ; 

Past the copse it trips unresting, 

Where the hidden cat-bird, nesting, 
Listens to the endless murmur, dreaming of her unborn 
young. 

Now adown the steep rock leaping. 

Now through shaded lakelet creeping. 
Never resting in its journey to the stately river's side, 

Soon with hesitating shiver 

Down it leaps to meet the river. 
And its life is joined forever to the turbid, flowing tide. 



95 



"AS TWO DEWDROPS ON A FLOWER" 

AS two dewdrops on a flower 
L. Rest apart and do not meet, 
Till the happy, destined hour 
When the west wind, cool and sweet, 
Shakes the blossom ; then they mingle, 
Two in one forevermore ; 
Nature's self has not the power 
To restore them as before. 
Separate, divided, single. 
So we met ; divided, single 
We had trod paths separate. 
Knowing not, our lives converging 
Finally should meet and mingle ; 
Knowing not that God, or Fate, 
Nearer still our hearts was urging, 
Till we met as river, river. 
Met and mingled, one forever ! 
Think you we were led together 
By God's hand through footpaths lonely. 
Merely for a passing greeting, 
96 



Then again to coldly sever 
And forget the l?lessed meeting ? 
Think you it was for that, only ? 
Nay, 't was for our lives' completeness 
And we may not scorn the sweetness. 
God mistakes not in His giving ; 
Well He knew our hearts' sore yearning, 
Knew what covered fire was burning 
Underneath our daily living ; 
Separated, and unknowing 
That our hearts, though far, were one, 
Sad, because our lives' sad flowing 
Through the shadow seemed to run. 
Till He led them in their going 
Out from shade to joy and sun. 
In each other's light we dwell 
Weaving each the other's spell, 
And we cannot say " Farewell." 



91 



PHANTOMS 

OCTOBER'S splendor glorifies the trees, 
Autumnal sunshine gilds the drowsy hours, 
In the warm silence some belated bees 

Hum fitfully around the lingering flowers. 

Among the tree-tops in the sunny noon. 
Plays sleepily the air amid the leaves ; 

Low in the west the pale, departing moon 
Stands like the pallid ghost of summer eves. 

Amid the beauty of the dying year 

June, half forgot, seems dim, and far, and cold ; 
But when her roses flushed a hemisphere. 

Her youthful blushes shamed October's gold. 

We gather scarlet leaves and deem their glow 
Outvies the green life of the summer's flush. 

But hide it as we may, we always know 

That life is sweeter than death's changeless hush. 



98 



Upon the far, blue mist pale phantoms rise, 
Coming and fading as the shapes in dreams ; 

Friends looking out with dear, familiar eyes 
Float in the blue and fill the noonday beams ; 

Friends who have crossed in sorrow long ago 

That dim, veiled stream which has but one known shore. 

Yet whose dark veil seems lifted now to show 

Returning friends ; but sorrowing friends no more. 

Slowly the phantom forms grow dim and fade ; 

Slowly the spectres pass beyond my view ; 
Only the hills remain, in gold arrayed, 

Range beyond range, melting to palest blue. 



LofC. 



99 



« WAS IT JUNE ? " 

WAS it June, was it rose-time, or winter and snow ? 
Was it noontide or moonlight ? I never can know ; 
In my heart it was rose-time and sunshine and June, 
The beauty of moonlight, the splendor of noon. 
The birds, or my heart, filled with music the air. 
The perfume of jasmine and lilies was there — 
Or was it her breath, when she whispered to me 
" I love you ! " that seemed all this sweetness to be ? 
But moonlight or noonlight, or rose-time or snow, 
Whichever it was, though I never can know. 
Not noon can be brighter, not sweeter the rose. 
Not softer the moonlight, not purer the snows, 
Than the light which illumined the earth and my soul, 
Than the fragrance which surely from Paradise stole. 
When the soft whispered syllables thrilled on my ear. 
And my heart ceased its beating to listen and hear. 
Did the mocking-bird sing in the linden above 
His passionate lyric of roses and love ? 
Or did my heart sing on that beautiful theme, 
And was all my happiness only a dream ? 



If dreaming it was, let me sleep while I live, 
For waking has nothing so precious to give ; 
Unfading the roses, unclouded the beam. 
Unchanging the love which I dreamed in my dream. 



lOI 



" I CROSSED "... 

I CROSSED, I know not how, a wondrous sea, 
Whose hither shore the sons of men call Earth, 
And reached a fair, bright land, divinely still. 
No sun was there, yet all the land was light ; 
No moon, nor stars ; and the bright land was still. 
I saw no man ; yet did it seem to me 
That unseen friends with tender, soothing hands 
Caressed my weary brow, until the pain 
Of Life and Living passed, and I was still. 
Then through the silence — Did I wake, or dream ? 
Came loving voices, bidding me to wait 
For yet a little, when my opened eyes 
Should see and know how God loves all the world. 
Then, how it was I know not, but I seemed 
To stand beside a slowly pulsing sea. 
Whose waves, like quiet heart-beats, rose and fell. 
And from their lulling motion came a sound 
As soothing as the song a mother sings 
To charm her dreaming child to deeper rest. 
Such peaceful waters earth can never know. 

I02 



I felt (although I know not if I dreamed), 
That here alone could perfect rest be found. 
The waves were rest. They were the Peace of Peace, 
The perfect sweetness of God's perfect love. 
In the blue mystery of distance, met 
The azure sky and the soft, restful sea. 
Oh, how I yearned to sink in those slow waves ; 
To clasp the water to me as a friend ; 
To feel its quiet enter in my heart. 
For then I knew that I should learn for aye 
The sacred meaning of divinest peace. 
But something held me back. Expectant thought, 
A dim, half knowledge of some wondrous thing 
Even now approaching from that lovely sea, 
Held me in waiting mood upon the shore, 
Else surely I had laid me in the waves. 
And filled my soul with rest, and love, and sleep. 
Then, far out on the amethystine verge. 
Floating with quiet motion toward the shore, 
I saw a countless throng of sleeping men. 
Women, and children ; all in deepest sleep. 
As they drew near the shore, adown the hills. 
Whose soft, green slopes margined that pulsing sea, 
A throng of men and women came, and stood 
Along the beach, and softly drew to land 
The sleeping ones. Then the warm, luminous air 
Began to palpitate with strains of song, 

103 



So full of love and joy ; so thrilling sweet, 

My watching eyes were blinded with my tears. 

Then slowly from profoundest slumber waked 

The myriad sleepers ; and a sound of joy, 

A cry of gladness, filled the lucent sky, 

As friend met friend, and heart to heart was pressed ; 

And the great throng departed up the hill. 

But when I strove to join them, a white cloud. 

Bright as the sunshine in a summer noon. 

Shut all away from me ; and naught was left 

Save night, and stars, and murmuring of the wind. 



104 



FRIENDSHIP 

SOME rooms there are within the human soul 
Where we lock up old sorrows, pain and grief; 
And if the world, by chance, be sweet and fair. 
We break the key and never look again 
Lest the bright sunshine of our life be dimmed. 
But there is one fair room within the soul, 
Kept ever swept and garnished ; on whose walls 
We hang our brightest picturings of truth. 
Our aspirations and our sweetest hopes. 
And this fair room is kept for that one friend. 
Who comes, or late, or early. Only one, 
And only once in life ; changing the world 
From gloom to glory. Tenderly the hand 
Of that one friend is laid upon our heart. 
Stilling its wild pulsations into peace. 
Through life none other enters in this room, 
'T is ever sacred to that friend of friends. 
Whose heart meets ours with perfect sympathy ; 
Whose eye looks into ours and reads the soul 
Like as a book whose open page is clear. 
105 



WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR? 

DEAR God, I saw Thee not in that weak form, 
Squalid, and shrinicing from the driving storm j 
Saw not Thy child in that poor man of sin. 
The rags without disguised the soul within. 

I spoke no word of comfort to his pain. 
Coldly I threw my alms, nor looked again 
To see his weary eyes raised unto mine : 
Can it be true he is a child of Thine ? 

Then through the storm a strange, sad tone I caught ; 
Or was it a self-shaping of my thought ? 
And yet — through wind and rain I surely heard — 
" Give thyself also ; give me one kind word." 

And when that word or thought smote on my brain 

I quickly turned and faced the drifting rain. 

If haply I once more the man might see 

And give him alms more worthy him and Thee. 



1 06 



Too late ! I scanned with care the gloomy street 
Through night and wind, through mingled rain and sleet, 
Searched long, with grief, that I might bid him live; 
I gave him alms j myself I did not give. 

Lord, I have sought Thee when Thy day returns, 
Where through the crimson pane the sunshine burns. 
Where 'neath the minster's arch of sculptured stone. 
Music makes for my sins melodious moan. 

Now will I rather seek Thee in the street 
Where driving storms of winter fiercely beat, 
And if one soul from suffering I can free, 
Wilt Thou not count it as a gift to Thee ? 



107 



PARTED 

YOU bade me leave you : then 
I turned my face from hope and day, 
Turned from the soul of life away, 
And with a sorrow which would bide for aye, 
Went blindly down the glen. 

The moonlight was the same. 
I noted one bright star that shone 
Amid the moon's rays all alone : 
One filmy cloud across her disk was blown 

A wisp of silver flame. 

The leaves were gently stirred 
By a faint breeze which seemed in quest 
Of fragrant flowers wherein to rest, 
So close to earth its fluttering wings were pressed. 

Like a sore wounded bird. 

Across the shaded lawn 
Thy lamp threw out a long, bright ray. 
Which seemed to point my lonely way 
io8 



Out into hopeless gloom, where I should stray, 
Seeing no morning dawn. 

O God, it was so dark ! 
Nor star nor moon could give me light ; 
My soul was lost in hopeless night, 
Nor in the future could my grief-dimmed sight 

One beam of comfort mark. 

And still I walk alone. 
And thy far casement, in my dreams 
Is like a star that faintly beams. 
But brings not light, for in its distant gleams 

No ray of hope is thrown. 



109 



SONNETS 



WAITING 

HIGH in the heaven of heavens a silver star 
Beats slowly to the music of the spheres. 

I watch its pulsing through my unshed tears, 
Because its beauty lifted up so far 
I cannot reach ; a strong, invisible bar 

Shuts out the earthly one from its high place. 

I worship from afar its infinite grace. 
And when life's petty cares my spirit jar, 

I raise my eyes and meet its changeless light 
And feel my soul uplifted. Then I know. 

Though aeons pass in darkness, yet the night 
At last shall vanish in the morning's glow. 

And that fair star (whose name is Truth) shall be 

My guide and comrade through eternity. 



"3 



SUNSET 

BENEATH the world's far edge the invisible sun 
Hides from the watching eyes of weary men. 

Dewy and cool, the breeze creeps through the glen ; 
The birds have dropped to silence one by one ; 
And the fair day, with all its duties done, 

Rests softly in the arms of silent night. 

Yet in the west rays of warm, delicate light 
Still linger on the clouds, and upward run 

To the blue zenith, where the white stars burn. 
Unwillingly, and slowly like the day, 

We journey down life's slope, and sadly turn. 
Hoping in vain with youth's bright hours to stay. 

Yet will unselfish deeds survive our breath. 

And brighten long the starry night of death. 



114 



AT NIGHT 

THE city lamps in long, converging lines 
Shed through the streets a faint, unreal gleam ; 

The passers walk like phantoms of a dream, 
Treading some vast aisle wrought with weird designs. 
The trees beside the way are shadowy shrines, 

And as they rustle in the yellow beam, 

Low, prayer-like murmurs from the foliage stream 
As if the city prayed. Above me shines 
Arcturus, faint and pale. Like mortal love 

Shining through mists of care, the dim lamps glow. 

Our earthly love is quenched before we know, 

By selfish cares, by griefs that come and go : 
Not like the changeless stars that shine above, 

Forever bright though dimmed by mists below. 



"5 



A FOREST WALK 



A SUNLESS day, gray clouds, a whispering breeze. 
The shrill cicada and the clear-voiced thrush j 
At intervals a silence, like the hush 

Before the thunder; venerable trees, 

A path from sunshine ever hidden ; these 

Make in my thought a picture. Dow^n the way 
We slowly walked that cloudy summer day. 

And felt how Nature's quiet moods could please. 

Above the cloistered walk great oak trees bent. 
And in the shadow of their leafage we 

Passed slowly on, and ever as we went. 

Our busy thoughts on other days intent. 
Forgot the present ; or we wistfully 
Peered forward, as if coming days to see. 



ii6 



II 

How strong yet subtle is the sympathy 

Between the heart and Nature. We are stirred 
To the soul's depths by little things. A bird 

Sings in the sunshine, and it seems as we 

From out the sweet past caught the harmony 

Of dear friends' voices. Some half-spoken word, 
Or old song in the fading twilight heard. 

Thrills through the soul and brings to memory 

The time when life was like a summer day 
Sunny and warm with hope's celestial ray. 

And though such thoughts of early, happy hours 
Pass quickly like a dream and will not stay, 

One breath of fragrance from youth's phantom flowers 

Is better worth than all life gives to-day. 



117 



DISTANT MOUNTAINS 



THE nearer landscape lies in shade ; the sky 
Is white with silvery clouds, save far away 
In the blue west where shines the cloudless day. 
Beyond green hills and shadowy vales, where lie 
The peaceful homes of men, my roving eye 

Seeks the blue, sun-bright mountains. Purple mist 
Tinges their tops with tender amethyst. 
And as I gaze, in fancy I descry 
Wild torrents leaping down their silent sides. 
And seem to hear the murmur and the gush 
Where those far waters vehemently rush 
Through dusky dells where some white Undine hides. 
A world of fancies and a home of dreams. 
An earthly Eden that fair country seems. 



ii8 



II 

On those far mountains, warm with noon's rich light, 
Softened, by leagues of summer haze, to blue, 
A lovely land comes slowly into view. 

Such as youth dreams when life is flush and bright : 

No place is there for sorrow or for night. 
But love's sweet flowers bloom forever new 
And fear not frost, nor lose their morning dew. 

As memory throws its glamour on my sight, 
I see alone that land of hope and dreams — 

Lone, sunny vales where fadeless flowers appear 
Like living gems ; where silver rippling streams 
Pour down their waters ; where the sunshine gleams. 

And bird-songs fill the air, and mock the ear 

With strains too sweet for common earth to hear. 



119 



THE PINE 

I 

WHERE slopes a lonely pasture towards the sky, 
And frost-dried grasses shiver in the cold, 
Stands a great pine tree, patient, sturdy, bold. 

Holding his green top ever straight and high. 

When gloomy skies and frost show winter nigh. 
And other trees have spent their autumn gold. 
All of his leafy wealth his branches hold. 

Yielding it not, though tempests shrieking by. 
Shake his stout trunk, and wildly toss his boughs. 

But a low song of triumph and of power 

Runs underneath the night-wind's mad carouse, 
Sung by the smitten pine in his dark hour. 

The night, the frost, the wind, are not so strong 

As the lone tree ; they cannot do him wrong. 



izo 



II 

And I would gladly sing in that high strain, 
Making my very pain to help me sing, 
And from the griefs of life a courage bring 

To more than bear — to triumph in my pain. 

The tree grows stronger as the hurricane 

Bows his green crown ; when snows their burden fling 
Upon his top, his branches upward spring 

Shaking the cold weight to the frozen plain. 
As he casts off the heavy, chilling snow, 

Would I the burden of my sin throw down ; 
As he sings proudly when the tempests blow, 
I too would sing, though life upon me frown. 

Teach me, O pine ! the secret of thy song. 

That I, like thee, through evil may grow strong. 



121 



THE CROW 

I 

OWILD, free rover of the upper sky, 
How small from that clear height must man appear ! 

Creeping on earth — his grave forever near — 
With clouds and tears dimming his earth-bent eye. 
Thou, lifted far above the earth, goest by, 

Companioned by the friendly atmosphere ; 

Scanning the large horizon, blue and clear. 
And seeing far pine forests darkly lie, 

A cloud of green, moveless upon the hill. 
There in the shelter of the sombre trees 

With numberless companions thou wilt rest ; 
No sound to fright, but only the slow breeze 

To sing and rock to sleep the forest's guest, 
And with content his quiet hours to fill. 



122 



II 

Would I could learn from cloud, and bird, and air. 
From yellow sunshine, and from forest tree. 
To live a larger life — more nobly free — 

Too grand to feel the taint of selfish care. 

Fain would I make my small horizon wide 
And view the world as from some airy height, 
Where early comes the morn and late the night ; 

Take wind, and cloud, and stars to be my guide 

To some far, undiscovered shore of song. 
And there, securely sheltered, ever bide. 
And see the world's poor life beneath me glide. 

And list to Nature's music, low and strong. 

Then life would be no longer small and mean. 
But large like Nature, and like Heaven serene. 



123 



INDIAN SUMMER 



NEVER did days in far Pacific seas 
Rest with more loving ministry of light, 

Warmth, and delicious haze on gardens bright 
With glow of tropical flowers and birds, than these 
Which now caress December. In the lees 

Of summer's wine lingers a magic might, 

Bringing again June's sensuous delight. 
Intoxicating air and birds and bees. 
Through the dark pine flutters the drowsy air, 

As if for rest after wide journey ings ; 
And the glad tree, holding his welcome guest 
Lists to the tale of its long, fruitless quest 

For sunnier lands in which to fold its wings ; 
And the tree murmurs answer, " None there are." 



124 



II 

As a sweet strain of music dies away 

Trembling along some old cathedral's wall, 
Lifting the heart, as by a seraph's call. 

Into a world lit by a purer ray. 

Then ceases ; while we seem to hear the play 
Of vibrant notes still down the warm air fall, 
Until the soul, half free from selfish thrall. 

Feels as on earth it can no longer stay ; 

So the rich sunshine of the summer time 
Lingers in dying beauty on the hills 

Until these days, when winter's hoary rime 

Is wont to crisp the flowers and check the rills. 

And through the lucent sky we almost see 

A path lead up to God's Eternity. 

December Z2, 1879. 



125 



TWILIGHT ON LAKE GEORGE 

(Suggested by a Picture painted by Charles Lanman, Esq.) 

I 

A DREAM of twilight ! On the lovely lake 
The spendthrift sky scatters its wasting gold ; 

The glowing clouds in slender lines unrolled, 
Reflected in the water, float and break 
To points of ruddy flame. The ripples wake 

Anear the shore, but vanish where the cold 

Weird glooms of gorge and wooded hilltop fold 
The water in deep slumber. Shadows take 
Their stealthy way across the fading light. 

Above the motionless trees, against the sky, 
A flock of waterfowl make rapid flight, 

Seen for a moment as they hurry by. 
And evening dropping like a child to rest 
Sleeps peacefully upon Night's quiet breast. 



[26 



II 

Peace comes with evening. When we stand alone, 
Watching the far-ofF hills where sunset glows, 

And see the day draw softly to a close, 

Or listen to the waves' low monotone. 

We do not need companionship ; for none 
Can speak as truly to the heart as those 
Great mountains paling down from gold to rose ; 

Or the slow waves that break and seem to moan. 
Then comes upon the heart divinest peace. 
From groveling thought the soul finds glad release. 
And doubt and fear and selfish sorrow cease : 

Then petty cares and troubles disappear. 

And life's vexed questions find an answer clear; 

For Man is far away and God is near. 



127 



"I STAND UPON THE HILL: FAR, FAR 
AWAY " 

I STAND upon the hill : far, far away 
A burst of sunshine flies along the plain. 

From where the winds have broadly rent in twain 
The gloomy veil of autumn's clouds of gray ; 
Still speeding on, the brightness will not stay ; 

Pursuing shadows sweep their sombre train 

Across the splendor ;" as I look again 
The far blue mountains catch the fleeting ray 

A moment, then the glory vanishes. 
So passes youth's short sweetness. When its years 

Are full of strength, the clouds of life are rent 
And the broad sun of passion warmly lies 
Upon the heart ; but soon come doubts and fears. 

And age clouds youth's clear sky, and love is spent. 



128 



PROGRESS 

AS the blue splendor of the cloudless sky 
. To earthly dust owes its transcendent hue, 

The myriad myriad motes reflecting blue 
To the fair earth beneath, while hidden lie 
The spectrum's other glories ; so, will I 

Think, that humanity to God's far view 

Shows nobler aspirations than seem true 
To us anear. The shadows we descry. 
But He may see that, spite of shame and sin. 

The world shows more of noble life than mean ; 
And the slow centuries that gather in 

The ripened sheaves of progress, still may glean 
At each succeeding harvest, souls more pure. 
Nobler in thought and deed, to Truth yet truer. 



129 



NOV 28 1903 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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